Dandy Mott's Next Great Adventure
by NotMarge
Summary: Dandy has finally drowned and died. What ever does the future hold for him next?


I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.

And if you're sweet on Dandy Mott, you will seriously dislike me for this one, peeps. My bad.

 ***Warning: Racial slurs used in context; I do not condone them.***

* * *

Dandy Mott, sole owner and proprietor of the glorious Dandy Mott's Cabinet of Curiosities, heir to the Mott family fortune, opened his water-filled green eyes.

He could not draw breathe before, the water had hurt his lungs, made them burn.

Now he found it easy, painless.

He blinked and inspected his surroundings.

The world beyond the creaking magician's tank in which he was encapsuled was still, silent, and empty.

Save for the green misty fog creeping into the big top on little cat toes.

Dandy had never seen fog like that before.

Maybe it was a carnie thing.

The thick glass of the tank had been cold and forbidding when he was drowning.

Solid.

Inescapable.

Now he found he could move through it quite easily.

Stepping down on the cleanly swept floor, water dripping from his bare toes.

He should have been cold and shivering, what with the chill in the air and all the water rolling off him.

And him in only his Fruit of the Looms.

 _Oh, Dandy, it doesn't do to be unkempt, dear. Where is your handkerchief, darling?_

"Shut up, Mother," he mumbled aloud.

Even in death she was _incessa-_

And suddenly, there they were.

People.

Newcomers.

Patrons?

No. Freaks.

Six of them.

Standing silent.

Fog swirling around them.

And him.

The man.

Dark and brooding.

Resplendent in his antique Victorian suit. Overcoat. Top hat. Stylish cane.

 _I simply must get a cane. For fashionable occasions._

 _And to beat my inferiors._

Long, scraggly hair.

Piercing gaze.

And Dandy knew.

He had been eating up all the carnie lore he could find ever since he first decided freaks were the best thing in the whole entire world.

They had all kinds of suspicions and stories and beliefs and tales.

And this one was the absolute best of them all.

Perfectly divine. Perfectly dressed.

Perfectly formed, with dignified gentlemanly countenance in front, his sneering, deliciously, handsomely wicked second face sprouting out of the back of his head.

Like a real, live, proper freak.

"I _know_ you!" Dandy gushed suddenly, boyish face breaking into a gleeful smile. "You're _him_! You're the guy!"

He leaned forward, clutching still shackled hands together over his heart in supplication.

Whispering conspiratorially in an eager tone.

"Can I see it, please? Can I see it? The face?"

The physical embodiment of Edward Mordrake frowned in consternation.

The living did not gibber with joy at the sight of the dead.

They did not smile and laugh and beg to come face to gruesome face with the demon.

They did not celebrate and dance with delight.

And then this one ceased to do so as well.

Dandy Mott stilled his jubilations, a confused frown pulling on his charming face.

"But . . . it's not Halloween. You only come at Halloween to gather souls of freaks."

The temporarily drowned heir to the Mott Family Empire planted his hands on his lean hips, chains rattling.

"Is this a trick? Did my wives and that stupid Negro bitch with the three tits put you up to this? Ugh, women can be so irrational when they get mad, they just _never_ let things go-"

"Cease your yammerings, you tottering fool!"

Edward Mordrake seemed slightly aghast at his own outburst, nearly unforgivable for a man of such learned manner and posture.

Dandy blinked, having so rarely ever been corrected by anyone at all ever.

"Did you just- Don't you know who I am?!"

Then he stopped and grinned.

"Why are you here? Are you – are you – why, you're here for _me_ , aren't you?"

He barely paused to draw breath before rushing on.

"I told them I couldn't die," he gushed excitedly to the grim apparition. "I _told_ them I was immortal! I told them!"

Then as Edward Mordrake stood still, peering at him with what was no doubt great awe at having finally snagged The Biggest Freak of Them All-

 _She said so, she said so. The three tittied lady-_

-Dandy Mott moved on, inspecting the other members of Edward Mordrake's hellish troupe.

A fat lady. The fattest lady Dandy had ever seen.

So wonderfully, bloatedly, perfectly pale and fat.

Save for the bloody gash marks across the many folds of her lumpy neck anyway.

An impossibly tall, lanky, Negro man dressed in white and black vertical stripes that made him appear even taller and lankier.

And strongish looking man in a bowler hat.

 _Couldn't have been too strong though. There's a knife sticking out of his neck._

A tall, plain woman with a bullet hole in her head and something clearly wrong with her eyes.

 _Is that_ really _your freak talent? Poor vision?_

A little dwarf man, also with a knife in his neck.

 _Well, it certainly is refreshing to finally meet someone who_ sticks _with a theme, wouldn't you say?_

Dandy chuckled gaily to himself at his clever joke as he circled the freaks, casting a shy eye toward his waiting guest, wondering if perhaps the gentleman would cheer a bit at such brilliant humor as Dandy clearly exhibit-

A bald man with faded happy clown makeup, clearly a simpleton, yet there seemed to be something around the eyes . . .

Dandy paused.

"Huh."

It pulled at him.

"You know, you look familiar."

He shook his head a little, completely oblivious to the deadly bizarre situation in which he found himself steeped.

"I, I, I can't quite place it. Do I know you? I feel like we've met before."

He thought a second longer. Then, still stumped, he shrugged and turned back to the silent leader of the troupe.

Edward Mordrake.

In the flesh.

It really was a treat.

Not one that was undeserving, of course.

Dandy Mott was a quite a prize. In any contest.

And he just couldn't contain his excitement.

"Are you going to take me back with you to Hell? How many shows a day will we be putting on? I hear Adolf Hitler loves a good performance!"

Dandy smiled proudly.

"Oh, you and they are most lucky! _I_ am the biggest freak of them all and the most talented!"

He raised his head proudly, wet hair still plastered to his head.

The apparition of Edward Mordrake finally spoke again.

This time in a more even, more respectful tone.

"What makes you think I have come to claim your soul, my dear boy?"

Dandy smiled winningly.

"Well, because I am _so_ much better, so much more _divine_ than any of these _boring_ losers. They're just mediocre oddities."

He raised his head proudly, wet hair still plastered to his forehead.

" _I_ can sing the entire Cole Porter canon. _Perfectly_!"

Mr. Mordrake seemed slightly unsettled.

Surely, yes, it was such a grand and glorious ability, Dandy wasn't surprised he was a little shaken.

Cole Porter.

And then Dandy's new admirer spoke again.

Longer this time.

And in more detail.

But still respectful all the same.

 _Of course he would._

"The demon does not bask in sunlight and warm zephyrs of joy and delight. The demon slunks amongst those unhappy number writhing in misery and shame. He feeds on their pain, on their regret. On their broken hearts and the rotting remains of their dashed and shattered hope. He wishes to hearken to their tales of woe so mournful they may cause him to weep with the weight of their despair."

Dandy Mott listened intently as the ghoul spoke.

 _Such a perfect British accent_ , he mused appreciatively. _Perhaps I should develop one. For performance purposes._

And when it came his turn to speak, he nodded understandably.

"Of course. I would expect nothing less."

With a heavy nod, he shifted, walking slowly and with measured steps.

Forming his words, carefully and with the most sincere heart.

"My story is the saddest tale of all," he confessed honestly. "My father, he killed himself, hung from a tree in our backyard. It was before I was born, of course, but my mother told me the tale many times."

 _Mother. I have succeeded at last. Despite you._

It really was a glorious mystery and adventure. The roads one's life takes them down.

"My family was very rich," he continued. "And my mother could afford anything I could ever ask for. Even two or three if I wanted. Unfortunately, she refused to give me the very thing I most desired in all the world."

He let the statement hang in the air, baiting his guests for their inevitable curiosities.

"My freedom."

He drew in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

"I was always so _bored_ with her. Nothing was ever really fun. Not the pets she gave me to kill or the girls she gave me to chase. We traveled the world extensively time and over again but . . ."

He shook his head.

"Nothing ever really made me happy. Not until I saw the freaks."

Despite of his troubles and turmoils, Dandy felt his countenance lift just at the mere mention of them.

"They were the most glorious creatures I had ever laid eyes upon. A tall lady and a tiny woman. A guy with fingerarms and another with monstrous hands."

His gaze drew distant and misty for the longest of moments.

Until he shook himself back to the present and remembered his manners.

An eager audience awaiting the next chapter of his tale.

"My mother even bought some for me to take home! Girls. Attached with two heads and one body, can you even imagine?"

He sighed again.

"They were stolen from me though, my perfect ladies, and oh how I missed them. Their smiles. Their devotion."

He dropped his voice in a more respectful tone regarding such delicate matters.

"We were quite the item, I must say." He nodded seriously. "Much sexual tension between the three of us. But I was nothing less than a perfect gentleman at all times."

He placed a hand over his heart.

"We were waiting until the wedding night."

He giggled, then grew sober again.

"They stole them from me though, even though I retrieved them back eventually. Yes I did, for true love can never be stopped, not really. I bought this very freakshow and then they legally became my property and no one could ever take them away from me again."

He raised himself up with all the dignity and privilege owed him by his station.

"I killed every one of them too, those that disagreed with me. To teach them a lesson and make sure they didn't forget it. Then I whisked my darlings away with me to my estate so they could never be taken from me again."

Dandy felt his eyes growing moist with tears.

"And this is the saddest part of the tale yet. My darlings, my beloved two headed wives, had been _brainwashed_."

He nodded earnestly.

"By the freaks. They no longer loved me. In fact . . ."

He gestured to his bullet wound.

". . . they poisoned me. One of them even shot me!"

His tears threatened to fall down his still moist cheeks then.

But Dandy Mott was a man.

And so he steeled himself against his tears.

And continued his woeful tale.

"Then they brought me here and put me in that tank. They turned the water on and they wouldn't turn it off! They laughed and mocked me. I offered them my love, my devotion, my forgiveness, I even offered them my money! But they wouldn't take it."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"They drowned me. They ate popcorn and they drowned me."

He looked up under his dark, thick lashes at his rapt guest.

"Isn't that just the _worst_ tale you've ever heard in your _entire_ life? Isn't that just _awful_?"

The man before him did not respond or even open his mouth at all.

And yet, Dandy could hear over the silent slupping of the water in the hideous tank behind him a surresh of noise.

Of breath.

Laughter it sounded like.

Not coming from any in attendance.

But from . . .

Edward Mordrake's eyes shifted to the side, his lip curled slightly.

"Not what we were brought here to do," he muttered, seemingly to himself.

And redirected his focus at the brave, bold, dignified man before him.

The man who had cruelly suffered so much at the hands of his lessers.

So terrible much.

"You have suffered," the man intoned solemnly and Dandy nodded in agreement. "But not as you have so ceaselessly claimed."

Dandy blinked, confused.

"You have not suffered from persecution or ill fate."

"You have suffered from an overindulgent mother. A sin fairly common."

 _See, her fault._

"But more so, and of your own permittance, you have suffered from a deplorable aggregate of delusional ignorance. Multiplied by your vile contempt for others."

Dandy frowned.

"You, dear boy, have no regret, you have no shame, you have no understanding of the sin in which you have so completely delved. You have no compassion, no kindness, no grace in your soul for anyone but yourself."

Dandy brightened then with understanding.

"Oh no, I can be nice! My mother taught me. Watch this!"

And he turned to the gathered, silent troupe that encircled him.

 _No, not the dwarf. He creeps me out. He might bite my knees._

Eyes finally alighting on the strong man with the bowler hat.

He smiled charmingly and used his most polite voice.

"Your neck knife is very . . . shiny. And the blood on it hardly stinks at all."

Then he turned back to Edward Mordrake proudly.

"See? I am the most perfect specimen of freakdom you will _ever_ come across."

Edward Mordrake's dark eyes were inscrutable as he seemed to study Dandy Mott.

Then he spoke.

"You are mistaken, dear boy. You do not understand yourself at all. You are not a pure freak."

Dandy's pristine face instantly slashed into anger.

He whirled into diatribe, cutting off the apparition's evenly toned speech.

"Yes, I am! That nigger lady with the three titties _said_ I was the biggest freak of them all!"

Edward Mordrake worked the handle of his silver tipped cane in one gloved hand.

"Now, dear boy, base vulgarities do not become-"

Dandy spat his words out defiantly.

"But she _said_ -"

Edward Mordrake cocked an eyebrow.

"Ah, but it is not up to her to decide. It is up to the demon."

Despite his willpower to be mannerly and mature and grownup so long as it got him what he wanted, Dandy Mott exploded into upset.

"No! _I_ am the best! I am! I am! Me! Me! Me!"

He stomped as he spoke. Jumping up and down, stamping his feet together in the soft, cool earth of the field dirt.

He jerked his arms up and down, arms pounding his muscular thighs.

Face drawn and pinched in rage.

And when he had finally worn himself out, he stilled, lower lip jutted out.

Eyes petulant and demanding.

Smooth body heaving with breath and exertion.

The apparition remained the same in poise and expression.

As if it had all the time in the world.

Then it opened its mouth and spoke.

"The demon seeks the noble, the misunderstood, pure, true freaks of whom this world has disavowed and wronged. Those who have suffered beyond their measure."

He paused then spoke.

"You, my dear boy, are not a pure, tormented freak. You are simply and sorrowfully . . . a psychotic brat."

Dandy stared at him in outrage and confusion.

"THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE TO TAKE ME?!" he screamed in outrage and confusion.

The evil, haunting laughter intermingled once more with Edward Mordrake's final words.

" _We_ are not here for you. _They_ are."

And Dandy saw it.

In the still arena with neither wind or breath to move them, the shadows danced.

Dark and menacing, delighting in the consummation of, the impending feast of, his soul.

They crept in closer, beyond their possible teethers.

Gnashing invisible teeth, licking incorporeal chops in ravenous hunger.

Sniffing eagerly at his tender, ghostly substance.

"No!" Dandy suddenly cried, terrified. "NO! NO! NO! Please! Please! You can't let them take me! _NOOOOOOOOOOOOO_ . . . ."

They swarmed him, covering him completely. Rendering him asunder in dark, delicious ways that had nothing to do with his corporeal form.

And then Dandy Mott's world went dim and silent and still.

And there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Absolutely nothing at all to sit and do but wait for Dora to hurry up and serve the damn appetizer.

Escargot, if he knew Mother.

Followed by the soup.

Followed by the salad.

Followed by the entrée.

Followed by the dessert.

Followed by polite conversation and quiet repast in the drawing room.

Followed by his compete and utter death of boredom at the entire, godawful affair.

Dandy Harrington Hawthorne Mott sat stiffly, miserably in his mother's stuffy, boring old dining hall.

Dripping with stiff heavy silk and positively _ancient_ Italian wallpaper.

Drowning in decorum and crystal and distilled conversation.

His polished two-toned leather shoes were too tight and they were pinching his toes.

His linen pants and starched shirt were imprisoning him in prim and proper encasements.

His blue vest smelled of mothballs and the gold-plated fork he relentlessly rubbed the nail of his thumb over tinged in the same high-pitched scree every single time he made the movement.

His mother, that insipid, sniveling, red haired weasel sat at the far end of the banquet table, that same pinched, doting little smile on her face as she peered at him with her beady little eyes.

 _Didn't I kill you already, Mother?_

He hated her blue dress with its flowery pin that perfectly matched her dangling earrings and the tired old necklace that hung around her smelly old neck.

 _Didn't I kill you already?_

His curled dark hair was stiffly coiffed on his forehead-

" _Well, it just makes you look like the most mannerly little gentleman in the whole world, dear, don't you think?"_

" _Yes, Mother."_

-and he thought the frozen brown birds on the wallpaper were laughing at him in their silent little bird voices.

She gentily picked up and rang the tiny little silver bell that always, _always_ summoned that idiot nigger Dora with her silver plate of stinky, pale, slimy, stupid-

"Snails? How _boring_."

 _Didn't I kill you already?_ Both _of you?_

And then it hit him.

He had.

He had.

He _had_ killed them.

And the other guy.

And the freaks after he bought them.

And then the girls, they had killed him.

And then that little Victorian era two-faced freak ghoul had come to take him away to Hell, performing for Hitler and being a star and-

". . . went to a lot of trouble," his simpering mother was sappily admonishing him. ". . . make a sour face."

-he was still here.

"Now," Gloria Mott, bullet hole _nowhere_ to found on her forehead even though he _knew_ he had put one there, twittered cheerily. "Go ahead and eat your snails, dear."

Dandy Mott in abject horror at the loop he would forever be trapped unliving in.

He opened his mouth to speak.

And Mummy Dearest beat him to it.

"And don't forget your nappi-kin."

* * *

 **KNOTTY PINE!**

 **XD**

 **Yeah, so, yeah. That's basically what I was going for, ha!**

 **Ahem.**

 **And yeah, I know there are loads of plotholes here. (But no more than dear old Ryan 'What the Hell, Bro' Murphy anyway, amiright?)**

 **For instance, did Edward Mordrake actually come to Dandy or was it just a feverish dying dream? Is he really still in the tank in his Fruit of the Looms or is he back at the dinnertable with Mummy Dearest?**

 **Have I lost my mind as a storyteller or not?**

 **So, what'd you think?**

 **Oh and I just figured out Dandy Mott is AHS Freakshow's Daffy Duck at his worst.**

 **Boom! Childhood ruined.**

 ***facepalm***

 **Ahem.**

 **Anyway, everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like. :)**


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